


Piano Man

by ArabellaFaith



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gay Bar, M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romance, Song: Piano Man (Billy Joel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArabellaFaith/pseuds/ArabellaFaith
Summary: One night, Crowley discovers Aziraphale playing piano in a gay bar. The thing is, Aziraphale seems totally oblivious to the nature of his surroundings. Crowley decides to make a game of it - how obvious can he make the situation before Aziraphale finally catches on?Crowley might be in for more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 128





	Piano Man

**Author's Note:**

> I've purposely left the timeline of this story vague so you can imagine it set whenever you'd like. It could be after the failed apocalypse, it could be sometime before they started raising the wrong antiChrist, it could be 1972, right before Billy wrote the song. 
> 
> Inspired by Facebook musings in the Ineffable Husbands Fanfic group. Thank you Anna Margarita Tongco for this idea!

It starts on a Wednesday night.

It should have been one of the most boring nights of Crowley’s long existence, by all accounts. There was nothing good on, the weather was foul, and Aziraphale was  _ busy. _ Doing whatever he did in his off time. Probably giving candy to children or passing out blessings to strangers on the street. Something Crowley was obviously not welcome to come along with - not that he would  _ want _ to, certainly.

Even still. He was irritated, and bored, and it was a perfect time to stir up a bit of sin. Nothing major, of course. Just inciting some lust, stirring jealousy, maybe cause a bar fight if he was feeling particularly feisty by the end of the night.

Thankfully, he knew the perfect place to go. There was a gay bar just the other side of town that was far too orderly for his taste. It needed stirred up a little. Crowley snapped his fingers and was suddenly wearing a pair of trousers so tight that only magic could have gotten them over his hips. Perfect.

***

The first thing he noticed was the music.  _ That _ needed to go. Live music was always a perk at a place like this, but only when it incited dirty dancing and furtive trips to the loo with someone from across the bar. This wasn’t music. It was  _ muzak. _ Crowley was pretty sure he’d heard this song in an elevator the other day. Though, he could admit, it was beautifully done. Whoever was playing had talented fingers. Still. The music needed to change on principle alone.

After a drink.

He strolled to the bar, hips swaying in a way that drew stares, and ordered a whiskey with a marachino cherry in it. The bartender looked at him sideways, but gulped when he saw what Crowley could do with the cherry stem. Crowley winked at him. The bartender blushed.

Three more cherries suddenly appeared in Crowley’s drink, and he proceeded to give each man sitting at the bar a hard on by doing sinful things with the stems. He was tying his fourth knot of the night when the song changed, Crowley’s eyes flicked to the piano player, and he promptly choked on the half-knotted stem.

_ Aziraphale _ was playing the piano.

At a  _ gay bar. _

Crowley hacked up the cherry stem inelegantly and wondered if he was hallucinating. But no, the bartender had moved down to place a drink on the piano’s edge - a Shirley Temple by the look of it - and Aziraphale smiled up at him, and there was no way that was just in Crowley’s head. He could  _ feel _ the angel’s benevolence rolling off him in sodding waves.

Was Aziraphale…. Did he…

Oh, Crowley couldn’t even begin to process this. He downed his whiskey in a single gulp and crossed to the piano with as much of a casual air as he could muster.

It only took Aziraphale a moment to spot him. He pointed that beaming smile the demon’s way, and Crowley fought the urge to bask in it.

“Crowley!” His fingers continued to dance across the keys, even as he turned his full attention to Crowley. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Crowley scoffed. “Could ask you the same question, angel.”

“Oh, well you know I’m not one for this sort of place-” He either missed Crowley’s snort or ignored it, because he went on without stopping, “but an aquaintance of mine was in such a bind you see, and I couldn’t leave his gentleman’s club without music of course-”

_ “Gentleman’s club?” _ Crowley’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

Aziraphale smiled benignly, nodding to the men scattered around the room. “It might be a long way from the kind of places one could learn the Gavotte, but they’re a friendly bunch at least.”

“Friendly,” Crowley echoed faintly.

“John there, the bartender, he serves me drinks for free you know, and Dave is always ready with a tale of life at sea. Why, you wouldn’t believe how welcoming they’ve all been. I’ve been playing here for a week and I’ve learned all about the regulars. Several of them even offered to walk me home, such considerate souls.”

_ Satan’s sweaty arse cheeks. _ The angel had no clue it was a gay bar. Crowley was at once relieved and terribly, terribly disappointed. He cleared his throat, trying to figure out how he was going to break the news that all these  _ considerate souls _ wanted into the angel’s pants.

He was granted a little time to come up with something when Aziraphale’s song ended and was met with vigorous clapping and cheers. He blushed becomingly and stretched. At least a dozen men’s eyes followed the movement - Crowley’s included.

“Taking a break?”

Aziraphale nodded. “They seem to get concerned if I play all night without stopping now and again. Paul even offered to massage my shoulders my second night here, but of course I had to politely decline.” He waved at Paul cheerily, and Crowley glowered at the man.

“You know, angel, he was probably offering more than a  _ massage.” _

“I’m well aware,” Aziraphale huffed, making Crowley wonder if maybe he  _ did _ know what kind of bar this was. He straightened his jacket primly. “He also offered to buy me a drink to show his gratitude for my playing, but I explained that I was doing a favor for someone, so it wasn’t necessary. He can offer all he wants, but it’s not as though I would take advantage of his generosity!”

_ “That’s not what I’m worried about being taken advantage of,” _ Crowley muttered darkly, shooting another glare at Paul. “What I mean,” he said audibly as they settled into chairs near the piano, “is that they’d  _ all _ buy you drinks. You know.” He gestured in what he felt articulated,  _ this is a gay bar, they all want to shag you. _

Aziraphale looked at him blankly. “I wouldn’t accept them, of course. Besides, they know John doesn’t charge me by now, so the point is moot.”

“Moot.” Christ on a crutch, Crowley knew Aziraphale could be oblivious, but this seemed downright  _ dense. _ Was it willful ignorance? Was he simply choosing not to see all the lust he was inciting? Or was it possible he really was that innocent?

Crowley switched tacks.

“Not many women in here,” he observed casually.

“I should think not, at a  _ gentleman’s club,” _ Aziraphale replied with a longsuffering huff. “Just the waitress, Mia. Not that she does this full time. It’s fascinating really, you see she has been working on this-”

Crowley didn’t give a rat’s arse what the waitress did for a day job. “You know an awful lot about the patrons here. Any of them have families? Wife and kids, that lot?”

Aziraphale looked at him sideways. “Don’t even think about trying to practice your wiles here, you crafty thing. They’re single to a man, so they aren’t depriving their families of income by spending their money here. Besides, there’s too much generosity amongst them for there to be any trouble. I’m not the only one that gets free drinks, you know. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen someone buy drinks for someone else. There’s a real camaraderie here.”

“An  _ intimacy, _ you might say.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Just so. Now be a dear and simply enjoy yourself this evening if you’re going to stay. I’ve got to get back to playing, but I’ve got my eye on you. No tempting.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale walk back to the piano, with half the men in the bar watching as well. “Oh, I’m not the one doing the tempting,” he muttered.

***

At nine o’clock on Saturday, Crowley ambled into the bar again. He hadn’t been able to get Aziraphale out of his mind. That wasn’t unusual, in itself, but the fact that the angel was spending his nights in a gay bar was just too much. He was at turns delighted, amused, and outraged. Half of him wanted to shake Aziraphale by the shoulders and shout  _ they want to bend you over that bloody piano and shag you raw! _ at him. The other half wanted to make a game of seeing just how long it would take Aziraphale to realize that he was a dancing piece of steak in a den of tigers.

He’d settled, cautiously, on enjoying the game. There was always time later for shaking and shouting if one of the bar’s regulars pushed their suit too far. In the mean time, Crowley would see just how overt he could be before Aziraphale cottoned on.

He wore a rainbow tank top and leather trousers and was whistling a Queen song when he walked in.

“Just the whiskey,” he requested when John turned to him. There was only one person he wanted to fluster tonight, and a cherry stem just wouldn’t cut it. He was going to have to come up with something far less subtle than that. Rubbing himself down with oil and dancing on the bar, perhaps.

A man in a tacky plaid shirt sidled up to him and offered to buy his next drink. Crowley smiled. Maybe dancing on the bar wouldn’t be necessary after all.

***

Three drinks later, Aziraphale tugged Crowley down the dark hallway and Crowley could barely suppress his laughter. Thirty seconds previously, the man attempting to seduce him, Fred, had had one hand high on Crowley’s thigh and the other practically draped around him. There was  _ no _ doubt what Fred had in mind for the night’s entertainment, and Aziraphale’s piano playing wasn’t it.

“Crowley, I- I don’t know how to tell you this, my dear,” Aziraphale said haltingly when they finally reached the relative seclusion of the back room. “But, well, I do believe Fred has  _ amorous _ intent toward you!”

“Amorous intent?” Crowley feigned shock, one hand to his breast like a woman on the cover of a tawdry romance novel.

Aziraphale clearly didn’t pick up on the sarcasm. “If you don’t clarify things, I do believe he is going to think the two of you will be spending the night together!”

“I wonder why he might think that,” Crowley drawled. Aziraphale tutted at him.

“Don’t think I’m judging, dear boy, but your attire certainly contributed. Not to mention the liberties you’ve allowed. He really is going to believe that you want to sleep with him!”

Crowley blinked. “Nothing else you can see might have contributed to his assumption?”

“Well I hadn’t planned on saying anything, no, but since you asked, the way you sit really isn’t helping matters any, either. All  _ splayed _ and  _ wanton. _ The poor man is going to be blindsided when he realizes you’re not going home with him!”

_ Splayed and wanton? _ Crowley knew there was always something a little serpentine in the way he conducted himself, but he wouldn’t have put it  _ that _ way. He was torn between being flattered Aziraphale considered it  _ wanton _ and being downright offended.

“What makes you think I  _ won’t _ go home with him?” Crowley asked archly.

Aziraphale’s face contorted rapidly from shock to dismay. “You  _ want _ to be intimate with him?”

There was so much disappointment in the question, so much of what Crowley dared believe was  _ hurt _ in the tone, that suddenly the teasing spirit deserted him entirely. He let out a sigh and stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something foolish like drawing the angel into a hug.

“No, I don’t angel. Let’s go back out and I can set him straight.”

_ Heh, straight. Not likely. _

Aziraphale smiled again, and Crowley felt something in him unclench at the sight. “Don’t worry, we can smooth things over easily enough. And then John can tell you about the acting classes he’s been taking! He wants to be in the pictures, you see, and…”

Crowley rolled his eyes and dutifully followed Aziraphale back out to the bar.

***

On Tuesday, Crowley walked into the bar to see an old man practically hanging on Aziraphale. The man was obviously drunk, and kept asking Aziraphale to play him a song, but he couldn’t remember which song. Before Crowley could interfere and do something diobolical to the drunk for putting his hands on Aziraphale, the angel gently touched the man’s forehead, smiled, and started playing a song.

The drunk beamed crookedly and went back to his chair while the melancholy tune filled the roo..

Crowley sauntered over.

“Make a new friend, angel?”

“Rather more acquainted with an old one than I wanted, if I’m honest. Rupert is rather… pungent tonight.”

“I can smell the gin from here.” Crowley waved his hand, nose scrunched in distaste, and the offending scent evaporated.

“Thank you, dear, that’s much better.” Aziraphale smiled at him, that little smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and Crowley had the sudden urge to kiss him.

Well,  _ sudden, _ in that it came on quickly in that particular moment. Not sudden in the origination of the idea. He’d been wanting to kiss Aziraphale since Eden. He’d never been so tempted to  _ act _ on it, though. He shook his head, turning his mind to his game, rather than impossible wants.

“Whatever  _ Rupert _ may have wanted, this song’s entirely too depressing. Play something they can dance to, angel!”

Aziraphale looked out over the small crowd of regulars, expression doubtful. “I don’t really think they’re the dancing sort, Crowley.”

“Course they are!” Crowley grinned. “You play something with some pep in it, and I’ll do the rest.”

The song finished, and Aziraphale dutifully switched to a more upbeat song. Crowley made his way through the scattered tables and chairs.

Aziraphale was right, this wasn’t exactly a place people came to dance, despite being a gay bar. This was a more sedate crowd. The drinkers, the talkers, the dreamers. Still, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t mix things up for a night. Especially with a tiny push of demonic intervention.

Suddenly every man in the place had a little bit of rhythm in their step.

A few tables were pushed aside to create a temporary dance floor, and it began to fill with writhing bodies. They started off six respectful inches from eachother, but by the end of the first song everyone was paired up in groups of twos or threes and pressed obscenely close. Crowley hadn’t even had to nudge them along there, they’d done it on their own.

He pulled a chair close to the piano bench and looked out over the writhing crowd with a smirk. “Well they certainly look happy. You could even say... _ gay.” _

He waited, smugly, for realization to dawn.

Aziraphale nodded in agreement.

“Indeed. I had my doubts, Crowley, I did, but this was a lovely idea.”

Crowley gaped at him.

This… was going to be more difficult than he thought.

***

On Tuesday, Crowley got the entire bar singing Village People songs as Aziraphale played the tunes.

Aziraphale declared the evening a delight, and even said Macho Man was a  _ lovely piece of bebop. _

Crowley just shook his head in exasperation.

***

On Friday night, Crowley managed to set Paul up with Randal, who he’d been making longing doe-eyes at for Satan only knew how long. 

Crowley had been positive, just  _ positive, _ that their very public kiss, followed by riotous cheering from the entire bar, would be the thing that made it all finally click into place for Aziraphale.

The angel smiled, blushed - as the display had edged into outright explicit - and then shook his head. “I do hope they don’t get  _ too _ carried away. I’m delighted for them, I truly am, but an innocent young lady could wander in looking for a drink and be positively scandalized by this much…  _ groping.” _

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh.

***

The following Monday, Crowley organized a trivia night at the bar. He spent days putting together the questions - which were all based on various gay icons - and then double checking that common knowledge aligned with what he actually  _ knew _ to be the correct answers. Sadly, much of history had been rewritten, and many of his questions needed to be edited, but the end result was worth it.

_ No one _ could fail to see the theme of the questions. Not even an entirely oblivious angel.

When Aziraphale came over to him during the last round, Crowley was positively gleeful. Dave shouted out the answer to the next question, which just happened to be John Waters. Aziraphale nudged him in the ribs.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice, didn’t you?”

“Caught me, did you?” Crowley deadpanned.

“This really was a lovely thing you did, Crowley. Just lovely.”

Crowley blinked. “Huh?”

Aziraphale chuckled, patting his arm as though Crowley’s bewilderment was all part of the joke. “You can’t try and pretend that you didn’t base this entire quiz on people who walked a different path. People who didn’t follow the crowd.”

“I mean,  _ technically, _ but-”

“Young Lou over there has just informed me that he’s finally worked up the courage to quit his office job and pursue his dream of opening a tropical fish shop. He’s going to be so much happier. And I’m  _ quite _ certain that you’ve influenced a few others to be true to themselves as well.”

“Uh, angel, I don’t think-”

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

Crowley’s brain went temporarily offline, and when it resumed, the only thing he could focus on was the lingering warmth where Aziraphale’s lips had touched him.

***

The game became slightly more convoluted after that. Crowley was still enjoying seeing just how long it would take Aziraphale to realize he’d been playing in a gay bar, but he was enjoying other things, too. 

On Friday, a man no one had seen before came in and ordered a drink at the bar. It quickly became apparent he was in the wrong place. After his third loud, rudely invasive question, Crowley showed him the door. The man made a point of snarling, “I thought you people were supposed to be  _ fun!” _ as Crowley tossed him out.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to pick up on the  _ you people _ comment, but he did embrace Crowley so warmly afterward that the demon practically melted into him.

On Tuesday, two more newcomers came in. The women, already tipsy from drinks at a different bar, flirted outrageously. They hit on every man present, including old Gary, who was missing most of his teeth, and were turned down flat each time. They were lamenting their lack of luck over another round of drinks when they spotted Paul and Randal practically in each other’s laps over by the pool table.

One leaned over and whispered rather loudly to her friend, “Tina, I think this is a gay bar!”

Spirits instantly lifted, Tina laughed good naturedly and ordered another round.

Aziraphale either hadn’t heard the explanation for their romantic failtures, or he hadn’t believed her, because there was no bolt of realization from him that night. There  _ was, _ however, a rather intimate thank you from him to Crowley when the ladies got well and truly sloshed and Crowley called a cab for them.

The fact that Crowley was the one who’d put the idea into their heads to go to the bar in the first place seemed like a rather small omission in the wake of Aziraphale’s lips brushing the shell of Crowley’s ear, his breath warm on Crowley’s cheek, his hand low on Crowley’s back.

***

By the next Friday, Crowley couldn’t take it any more. Nothing short of a flashing, neon sign proclaiming  _ GAY BAR _ was going to clue Aziraphale in.

Still, that didn’t mean the fun had to end. While he might have given up on his clues, he now had another goal in mind.

He was going to shag Aziraphale senseless over that bloody piano.

The thing was, Crowley had been lost on the angel since Eden. He’d known it, even if he didn’t want to admit it back then. And the whole mess had only gotten worse over the next several thousand years. Crowley had worked very hard to keep it under wraps, and he’d been doing a damn fine job of it, thank you very much. But even a demon had his limitations, and watching Aziraphale play that piano, in a gay bar, for weeks on end, had downright done him in. The glances, the furtive touches, the songs that he was starting to  _ swear _ had double meanings… There was only so much he could restrain himself, and he’d reached the end of his proverbial teather.

He wanted the angel, and Heaven and Hell help them, he was fairly certain the angel wanted him too.

One way or another, he was going to find out.

It was nearing two in the morning, and everyone had left except John, stacking glasses behind the bar, Bill, scribbling away in his notebook and humming, and of course Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale was finishing up his last song for the night, drawing out the notes despite his small audience. When he finally lifted his hands from the keys, Crowley nudged John, who suddenly remembered he had somewhere to be urgently and would Crowley lock up for him? Crowley generously agreed, and with a crook of his finger, Bill also realized how late it was and that he needed to head home right that moment.

Both men bustled out of the bar, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone.

Aziraphale noticed the hasty exits and tutted. “Really, dear boy, was that wholly necessary?”

“What?” Crowley shrugged shamelessly. “You’ll make sure the place gets locked up safe and sound.”

“Of course I will. But there are easier ways of getting a private moment with me, if that was your intention.”

Crowley swallowed thickly. Now or never.

“That was your intention, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale asked innocently.

“Hnng,” Crowley replied.

He was already picturing Aziraphale untucked and unbuttoned, flushed with excitement, lips parted…

“Was there, perhaps, something you wanted to say to me?”

So many things he wanted to say.  _ Let me bend you over that piano and have my wicked way with you. Fuck me on the floor, right here right now. I’ve wanted to taste your cock for centuries. _

He was supposed to be a suave, cool demon. Seduction should be his wheel house. And yet, with Aziraphale walking closer and closer, pink tongue slowly whetting his full lower lip, all Crowley could do was repeat the rather pathetic, “hnng.”

Aziraphale laughed, and the sound was low and sweet. He reached out to Crowley. Slowly, his fingers brushed along Crowley’s cheekbone, his jaw, his lips. He drew close enough that Crowley could feel the heat of him. Smiled. Tilted his head ever so slightly, as though readying for a kiss.

And that was when Crowley realized he’d been had.

“You bloody bastard,” he muttered, right before pulling Aziraphale into a fierce kiss. He could feel Aziraphale’s laughter against his lips and it was like sunshine, like starlight, like all things bright and beautiful and clear. “How long have you known for?” he demanded when the kiss broke.

“That this is what is colloquially known as a  _ gay bar? _ Since your trivia night. Really, not even  _ I’m _ so dense as to have missed that.”

“I can’t believe you pulled one over on me! You let me go on for  _ weeks _ trying to all but spell it out for you.” Crowley’s lips trailed up Aziraphale’s neck, exploring each hidden nook.

“Well I did have rather a good reason. Not to mention that it was fun to turn the game on you a bit.”

“What reason might that be?” Crowley’s lips continued down to the edge of Aziraphale’s collar, which had somehow just popped a button. He nudged the stiff fabric aside to kiss his collarbones.

“I had probably known, deep down for decades - maybe centuries - but you see, it was only a few short weeks ago that I realized how desperately I was in love with you.”

Crowley stilled. He raised his head so that he could look into Aziraphale’s eyes. It felt as if there was too much air in the room suddenly, as though there was pressure bearing down on his ear drums, on his eyes, in his lungs. “Love?”

“And lust, of course, but… yes. Love. I don’t expect you to say it back to me, Crowley. I don’t expect you to love me too, so you needn’t-”

Crowley put both hands over Aziraphale’s mouth. “It was never a question of not loving you, angel. I never tried to deny it.”

“You-  _ really?” _

“I have loved you for ages. Lifetimes.  _ Millenia.” _ Crowley shifted his hands, letting them slide down Aziraphale’s face to his shoulders, then lower, pulling him close. “The only thing I ever tried to deny was wanting more.”

“Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale kissed him, slowly this time, deeply. By the time he pulled back, they were both breathless. “What do we do now?”

“Now?” Crowley smiled wickedly. “Now, I’m going to spread you out on this piano and have you like a feast.”

Aziraphale hummed in anticipation, and the sound turned into a gasp as Crowley proceded to do just that.

***


End file.
